Only Tomorrow Leads My Way: A Prayer for Asmodeus
by Girl Ain't Right
Summary: Agent Doggett investigates an X Files case on his own and runs into another Agent with a personal interest in the case. Warning: Original Character involved  if you don't like original characters, please just pass this one by.


**Author's Note**: This story was originally written way back in early 2001. The first of 6 stories based on the characters of the X-Files and my original character, Angela Talarico. All six stories were posted on three X-Files sites that are no longer in existence. I'd almost forgotten about these stories, until I started watching my Season 8 and Season 9 dvds again. Now, I'm writing a new chapter, so, in order to have you, the reader, know the story behind what I'm working on, I'm posting the original chapters here for the first time. (with some tweaking, of course!)

Now…on with the story….

It was starting again. He knew it would, just like it had all the other times. He could hear them outside the windows. Creeping, whispering, scratching at the glass. They were quiet now, but before the night was over, their whispers would turn to screams of the worst, soul shaking kind.

Then, it would start in his heart, his soul, the center of his being. Father Frank Gallagher could feel the icy grip of the blackness that would overtake him again. The blackness that would drive him out into the cold night in search of yet another soul to satisfy his lust.

He'd always considered himself a moral man; he was after all, a man of the Cloth. He'd never wanted to be anything else. It was his destiny, his dream. For all of his twenty years in the Priesthood, he'd served the Lord in a faithful, unquestioning way. Until that night that the screams took him outside of the sanctuary that St. Pius Seminary seemed to offer.

It was Father Brian who'd wanted to make the trip out into that dark night. To see what was causing the screams and banging on the windows of the great stone building that housed the faculty of the Seminary. But Monsignor Fitapaldi forbid him from leaving. Monsignor sensed that whatever was out there was something they should not tamper with, something that was best left outside. But Father Frank could not spend another night praying to drown out the agonizing screams. No, Father Frank was going to go outside and face It. Whatever IT was.

He went alone, without telling anyone he was going. No one missed him until he didn't appear at Mass the next morning. Once they'd searched the Faculty Residence, they fanned out on the grounds. Father Brian found him, unconscious, in the mud near the lake at the edge of the property. They took him in, cleaned him up, and waited. While they waited, they prayed. There didn't appear to be any physical injury to Father Frank, but what about his soul?

He seemed normal when he awoke. A little weak, a little pale, with no memory of what happened to him. When the rest of the faculty judged him well enough, he resumed his duties as if nothing happened.

The next week, it started again. The noises, the screams, and finally, Father Frank remembered what had happened to him. He again waited until long after dark, and then slipped out. He remembered all too well what happened this night, and once weekly for the next 6 weeks. It tore at his soul, but he could not stop himself from journeying out each time the voice called. He was but a plaything, a puppet, acting out the will of a master who was stronger that Father Frank ever imagined. Stronger than the faith that had guided him through his life.

What surprised him was that no one, not Father Brian, not the Monsignor, noticed the change in him. No one could see the effect this had on him, the torture his heart endured. Not even his sister, in her twice a week phone calls, could hear it in his voice. Nevertheless, it was there, dark, insidious, and evil.

Father Frank knew he had to stop the evil. He tried to pray, he tried everything he could think of, but each week, "it" drove him out into the night to do its bidding. But not this time.

This time, he would stop himself before it happened again. This time, he would end it. He reached into his duffel bag and held the small pistol in his hand. His sister had given it to him, for protection. The seminary was out in the woods of rural Virginia. One couldn't be too careful in their travels. It was not a sanctioned item for a member of the Saint Pius faculty to possess, but Father Frank kept it well hidden, just in case.

He released the safety and then said a quiet prayer for his soul. He knew suicide was against all the Church stood for, but in his mind, there was no other way. He was going to Hell for his acts, and there was no turning back. This last sin, he rationalized, would be redemption.

With a deep breath, he placed the barrel of the pistol in his mouth and quickly pulled the trigger.

Special Agent John Doggett sat in the basement office he'd inherited and looked around. This was not where he wanted to be at this stage in his career. Not that he had political ambitions, no, far from it. He'd be content to have a nice cubical upstairs, where there were windows to see the outside world. Where he could actually speak to his co-workers on a daily basis. Not here, in Spooky Mulder's basement, where the rumors that had begun about his own status in the Bureau would surely drift.

What did Skinner tell him? Kersch set him up to fail. Probably. At first, Doggett tried not to believe it, but once he was "officially" assigned the X-Files Division, he knew Skinner spoke the truth.

Doggett, however, was not one to give in easily. He was still in charge of the Task Force to locate the missing Agent Mulder and now he had the X-Files. He would handle them in the same professional manner he would handle any other case. He would handle them, but no one said he had to BELIEVE in them.

What boggled his mind more than the vampires and aliens was the way Agent Scully embraced it all as the truth. She assured him that she was "just like him" seven years ago when she was assigned to debunk Agent Mulder's work. However, over time, she'd seen things that she could not dismiss. Hell, even AD Skinner was falling for this "little green men crap." When a man like Skinner, a Marine like himself, fell for this stuff, Doggett got worried. What the hell had Skinner seen?

Shaking off the dark thoughts that crowded his mind more frequently than he liked, Doggett studied the case folder in front of him. This case had a real crime, with real victims, killed and raped by a real, albeit, dead, suspect. After the rape and murder of seven young women, a priest in the local seminary offed himself. Blood tests done postmortem matched samples on the victims, hair and fibers were present, and the DNA tests were still being run for good measure.

_Okay_, Doggett thought, _why is it an X-File?_

A further reading of the file's contents brought him to a statement by a Father Brian Pavilcek. Seems Father Brian thinks that some sort of demon had driven Father Frank to his crimes. He described events surrounding each murder, where there seemed to be someone or something, outside of the Seminary screaming and trying to get in. Doggett thought that it was strange. None of the other Priests mentioned it.

"Agent Doggett?"

His partner's voice caused him to look up to find her standing in the doorway. She wore one of her dark suits and an expression of amusement.

"Agent Scully," he returned, "Something amusing you?"

Dana Scully's face softened into a smile, "The expression on your face, actually. I take it you've read the Gallagher file?"

Doggett nodded. "Demonic possession as a defense. Shame OJ didn't think of it."

Scully rolled her eyes. "It's hardly a defense, the suspect is dead."

"Clearing his good name," Doggett offered, noticing how pale and drawn his partner looked. He knew it was none of his business and that she would tell him so, but he asked anyway. "You okay, Scully? You're looking kinda...pale?"

She dismissed it, "Just tired...stress." She quickly changed the subject. "Don't you find it odd that only one of twelve Priests mentioned the screaming outside? What is it that they're trying to hide?"

Doggett shrugged. He guessed it should probably matter, but his police training told him that they had their perpetrator; therefore, the case was closed.

"I think we should drive out there. See what's going on. Don't you?" she said, watching the thoughtful look on his face.

"I think I should," he decided, standing. "You don't look like you should be traveling. Maybe you're coming down with something."

Scully knew she would have to tell her new partner about her pregnancy. He would need to know, hell, soon he'd see it on his own. But something held it back, something told her to wait.

"Agent Scully?" Doggett asked, an expectant look on his face.

"I'm fine, Agent Doggett," she replied, shaking her head.

"All the same," he concluded, not willing to be swayed. This was a simple case; he could take it on his own. The last thing he needed was to be stuck in the middle of Virginia with a sick partner. Her face wore a look of determination, so he changed his tack, "Look, Agent Scully, if you ARE coming down with something, you don't want to get it in the middle of nowhere. I'll make you a deal. I'll go out myself and if I find ANYTHING worth your driving out there, I will call you. Deal?"

Scully could tell by his pose that there was no arguing with him. Normally, she would protest, but truth was, she had been experiencing a bad bout of "morning sickness" over the past week.

Angela Talarico was not in the mood for stonewalling. But that's exactly what she got when she called Saint Pius Seminary to speak to Monsignor Fitapaldi. She'd gotten the call three days earlier telling her that Frank was dead. But that's all they told her. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough.

She took a leave of absence from the Bureau, on the pretense of driving out to the Seminary to collect her brother's meager belongings. Truth was, there was nothing there of any value. He wasn't allowed to have many personal things. Not even pictures of his family and that had always pissed her off. The only thing he had of hers was the gun. She didn't want that, not that the police would hand it over to her.

Angela didn't go there for Frank's belongings, she was there for answers. Why had a perfectly sane, rational, religious man killed seven women and then, himself? A man who knew that murder and suicide were sins that could never be forgiven, a man who had devoted his life to the Church and wouldn't dare dream of doing anything worse than sharing a beer with his sister while watching a hockey game. No, something was not right. There was no denying that Frankie killed himself and the lab results made it damn clear he'd at least BEEN with those dead girls. But, Angela wasn't satisfied with that. She had to find out why.

She had missed the exit for Sayreville and rode Route 81 clear to the Tennessee border before she turned around and consulted her map. The damn town wasn't even in the Road Atlas she'd bought. What in the world had possessed her brother to come out here? She stopped and took a breath. She knew. Frankie had been assigned to a parish in down town Pittsburgh and seen some of the toughest lives stroll through the doors of this church. He couldn't take the violence and disregard for human life he'd been witnessing, so when the teaching position opened at Saint Pius, he jumped at the chance.

That was a year ago. Frank had been home twice since the move and it seemed to agree with him. He was loving the quiet life, the small town. Angela hadn't had the chance to visit, not that seminary students really needed a female around. But Frank wanted her to see where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. She gave a dry, hard laugh. Well, he did spend the rest of his life there and now she would see it.

It was late when she got to Sayreville, so she checked into the Mosey Inn Motor Lodge and called the Seminary. They would not see her that night. She could come by in the morning to collect Frank's belongings. No one offered to discuss his death with her, so she decided she would carry her FBI badge and her gun with her. Maybe, if she flashed her badge and made them think it was an "official investigation" someone might talk. Then again, someone might turn her ass into AD Skinner for falsifying an investigation. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered at that point but finding out why her brother, the most loving, giving, Christian man she would ever know, had somehow turned into a killer.

By the time Doggett reached the small town of Sayreville, Virginia, it was nearly 9 p.m. He'd missed the exit off of Route 81 and driven straight into Tennessee. When he finally saw Sayreville, he knew why someone could blow right by the tiny town.

There wasn't too much to the place. It reminded him of a hick town from a movie. There was one hotel, the Mosey Inn Motor Lodge. By the looks of it, it was built in the 1960's and hadn't been remodeled. As he parked in the small lot, he wondered if they'd changed their sheets since then.

After getting himself a room, he walked back to the car to remove his bag. His eyes were drawn to the bright yellow Mustang convertible parked across the lot. It didn't fit in with the pick ups and older "family cars" he'd seen during his drive through town. It also bore DC plates. Doggett raised a brow. He hadn't read Gallagher's personal history yet, figuring he'd do it when he got to his room. Scully mentioned a sister. Maybe she'd come down to gather Gallagher's belongings. He would have to find her and talk to her as well. But, his growling stomach insisted that first; he needed to get something to eat.

Angela Talarico sat in the small diner and stared at the menu. Fried, deep fried, and chicken fried food was the bill of fare. Not good. Not when she was so stressed. This was exactly the comfort food she craved and exactly what she didn't need to eat. With a sigh, she ordered an open-faced turkey sandwich platter. It was the safest thing on the menu. Besides, she rationalized, if she ate that, she'd be able to fit in a piece of that killer apple pie in the display case near the door.

She sat, sipping a beer that was a bit too warm, and contemplating her next move. Flying by the seat of her pants was NOT her favorite thing to do, but she had no choice. She was here on her own time, with no partner and no back up. She'd have to tread carefully.

The jingle of the bell over the door to the diner stirred her from her thoughts and caused her to look up in time to watch a tall, brown-haired man walk into the diner. She knew this man. Hell, his piercing blue eyes were hard to forget. It was John Doggett. He, too, was with the FBI, but where Angela was with the Violent Crimes division, who might at least have a REASON to be here, Doggett was with the X-Files. _Shit, what could he possibly know? What could there be that would make THIS an X-File?_

John Doggett walked in from the cold and stood in the doorway, surveying the small diner. As he expected, it was filled with the flannel shirts and jeans wearing men from the local town. Not many women, though. Most of the women there were older, doughy women, who thought THIS was a night of haute cuisine. His eyes were drawn to a solitary female sitting at the counter with her back to him. She wore jeans and a black leather jacket and her dark hair hung just below her shoulders. Instantly, he knew this was the Mustang's owner. He wasn't sure what made him believe that, but he guessed that no other vehicle he'd seen would suit her. Maybe, he'd try to get to know her a bit better. If she turned out to be the victim's sister, so much the better. If not, well, if the front view was as good as the rear, the night would not be wasted.

The damned bell over the door caused her to turn her gaze towards him. After a moment, he recognized her.

"Agent Talarico?" Doggett asked, wondering how Violent Crimes could be involved in this one. Did he take someone from across state lines?

"Agent Doggett?" she replied, and Doggett would swear she looked like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. "What are you doing here?"

"Probably the same thing you are," he replied, sitting next to her. "The Gallagher case?"

Angela nodded. She knew she was about to have the whistle blown on her whole little scam. She decided to play it cool. "Where's your partner?"

Doggett shrugged, "Agent Scully's a little under the weather."

She nodded, watching him open the menu.

"What's your take on this case?" Doggett asked, casually, as he scanned the menu.

He didn't know. She was amazed, but that feeling was short lived. He'd figure it out sooner or later. Maybe she should just tell him the truth. No. Not yet. Instead, she shrugged, "Don't know...can't get a grip on it."

He nodded, and then placed his order with the waitress. Angela watched him pour on the good old boy charm. She'd only spoken to him maybe once or twice, but never noticed the drawl. She guessed he was pouring it on for the 50-something waitress who obviously fell for those blue eyes of his.

For the second time that day, Doggett found a beautiful woman watching him with amusement in her eyes. This was starting to bother him.

"Do you find something amusing, Agent Talarico?" he asked, trying to sound perturbed.

"I never noticed the Southern drawl," she offered, "I thought you were a New York City cop..."

"Born and raised in Atlanta," he acknowledged. Something about her presence here bothered him, and it wasn't just the incredibly sexy perfume she wore. She was carrying. He could see the bulge in the formfitting jacket. But still, something just did not sit right. If she were here officially, would she be driving her own car? Possibly, but not likely. He spoke again, "And, if I remember right, you were with Philadelphia PD?"

She nodded.

His smile dropped, "Cop to cop...what are you doing here?"

_SHIT! _Her mind screamed, as panic set in. But, with a cool exterior, she replied. "I'm investigating the Gallagher case."

He nodded and she knew he wasn't buying it. "Last I checked, there weren't any Mustang convertibles in the motor pool. At least not yellow ones."

_SHIT!_ Her mind repeated. She could not think of a come back.

"You aren't here on an official investigation, are you, Agent Talarico?" he asked.

She looked down. There was no way she could bull shit him. Not at this point. Even if she did, one phone call to DC would tell him she was on Bereavement Leave. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out from there.

"No, I'm not," she admitted, raising her eyes to his and praying he would help her out. "I'll save you the trouble of checking in with AD Skinner," she continued, trying to keep MOST of the defiance she felt out of her tone. If she pissed him off, he'd rat her out. That much she knew.

"What's your connection to all of this?" he asked, sipping from his coffee cup.

"You must not have read the entire case file," she replied with a dry laugh, knowing she'd caught him with his pants down on this one.

Doggett knew she had him on that one. He _should_ have read the whole file, but it really didn't seem necessary. Coolly, he replied, "I read the details of the case, not the personal information. I take it your name appears there in some way?"

She gave a snort, then drank another mouthful of beer. After setting the empty bottle down on the counter, she fixed her jade green eyes on him, then spoke in a quiet voice, "Frank Gallagher is...was my older brother."

_You found the sister_, Doggett thought, _now what?_ The last thing he needed was a vigilante little sister looking to avenge her brother's death.

"Don't worry," she tiredly said, "I'm not down here trying to defend my brother's memory. I just wanna know why he did it. That's all."

"So you took a leave and drove down here to snoop around," he concluded.

"Yes, Agent Doggett, I did. And right now, I am a private citizen, doing my own private business." He watched her sit upright, the color flaring in her cheeks, her eyes turning cold. "I will not interfere with your investigation. Don't interfere with mine." With the last sentence, she stared him down. Doggett recognized the dare. By all rights, she shouldn't be digging into this. Depending on what she did, he could turn her in to the Bureau. But, if he were in her place, he'd be doing the same damn thing. She stood up to leave and without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

The feeling of his hand clamping on her forearm caused Angela to spin around and look at Doggett with wild eyes. What was he up to?

"Look, Agent Doggett," she began, wondering if she could throw him. She'd had extensive hand to hand combat training, but she sensed he knew how to fight above and beyond what the FBI taught its trainees.

He let go of her arm and motioned to her stool. "Sit down and eat, Agent Talarico. It's late and it's cold outside. Nothing will change or be changed tonight."

She raised a brow. Who was he? Confucius? "Is this my last meal before you rat me out?" she tried, sitting down.

He looked at her and in an instant, he could read the confusion and pain in her eyes. The right thing to do would be to put her ass back in her little yellow sports car and send her back to DC. She had no business there. She was upset, related to the victim, and there unofficially. Hell, there was a whole laundry list of reasons why he shouldn't let her become more involved. But, Doggett had to admit, his thinking had been seriously skewed lately. Doing the right thing wasn't so black and white anymore.

He spoke quietly, as the waitress set their plates in front of them. "I won't do that," he began, then turned and looked at her, "But, you had better keep your head in this. At the first sign of trouble, you're outta here."

Angela felt a smile building and tried not to show it. Instead, she sliced her turkey, "Thank you," was all she said, then placed a mouthful into her mouth.

The sharp knock on her door pulled Angela from a deep, dream filled sleep. None of the dreams were pleasant, so waking was a relief. She sat for a moment, blinking in the sunlight that filtered in behind the heavy hotel room drapes. There was another sharp knock.

"I'm coming!" she groused, grabbing her Glock 17 from its holster and walking to the door. She peered through the peephole and recognized the distorted image on the other side as Agent Doggett. Relaxing slightly, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. "I thought you said we'd meet at nine?" she said, squinting in the sun

."Actually," he replied, "It's 9:15"

As he entered the room, Doggett sized her up from behind his sunglasses. She'd been sleeping, which wasn't surprising after the six pack she drank in the diner while he ate and she picked at her meal.

"I brought coffee," he offered her a Styrofoam cup, which she took gratefully. "It's black..."

"Thanks, black's perfect," she mumbled, shutting the door and flipping on the light. "Sorry, I didn't mean to oversleep."

He shook his head to dismiss it and removed his sunglasses, watching as she closed her eyes and took a long drink of coffee. "We're supposed to be at the Seminary at 10."

She opened her eyes, "I only need 20 minutes. If you want to, you can wait here...or I can meet you at the diner or something."

"Here's fine," he sat at the small dinette set across from the bed and watched her go through her suitcase. She wore a large Philadelphia Flyers hockey jersey and when she bent over, he could see the edges of a pair of black silk boxers beneath the jersey. From what little he gleaned of her personality last night, this choice of sleeping attire seemed more suitable than a satin negligee...although, he had to admit, she would probably do justice to the negligee, as well.

Angela felt his eyes on her and allowed him to watch. So, Old Blue Eyes liked what he saw. Good. It had been a while since she had a man appreciate her for her looks. And if he was crazy enough to appreciate her when she had just gotten out of bed, then he was probably more desperate for physical contact than she was.

She stood and turned to him, holding her clothes in her arms, "I'll be out in a few minutes...the remote's permanently attached to the night stand..." she nodded at the TV, "They actually get cable out here."

She'd caught him watching her. Damn. _That was smooth, Doggett_, his mind reprimanded, _and totally unprofessional_. Now, she was going to get the wrong idea. Truth was, he wasn't studying her as a sexual conquest, he was studying her as a prospective ally. He hoped she didn't think he would be that crass. After all, this wasn't a bar in down town DC and she wasn't this week's catch.

She'd disappeared behind the bathroom door, leaving him alone in the room. Doggett knew he should call Skinner and fill him in on what she was up to. He'd even dialed the man's number this morning, but hung up before the second ring. Why? He didn't know. He just hoped he wasn't committing another major mistake.

Monsignor Paulo Fitapaldi was less than happy when he met the two FBI agents. He'd known that Father Frank's sister was coming to collect his things, but no one told him that she would be bringing someone with her. They did not need to have these people poking around in their business. The things that happened were tragic, but these people would not understand the real reasons behind them.

The Police had Frank's body. They'd run tests. Sheriff Jeter filled the Monsignor in on the results. Frank had killed those women. He'd raped those women as well. Jeter wanted to know why. The Monsignor knew the truth, but made up a story about Frank having psychiatric problems and not taking his medication.

Who thought the sister would come? Now, she'd tell Jeter that Frank wasn't sick at all. There was no medication. And then, they would turn to the Seminary. They would want to know how it happened and why. And what could he tell them? Would they believe the screams and cries that came at night? Would they understand that there are dark, evil forces out there that lie in wait for good men such as Frank to come along to do their bidding?

No, they would dismiss it as a fantasy. A fairy tale dreamed up by a long ago Church. But the Monsignor knew this was no fairy tale, just as he knew that "it" would be back.

"Monsignor," Angela began, sitting across the mahogany desk from the Holy man, "What had been going on with Frank in the time frame surrounding the murders? Did you notice a change in him?"

"Quite honestly, he seemed a bit quiet," the Monsignor carefully said, making Angela suspect he knew a lot more than he let on. "He spent a great deal more of his time in the Chapel."

"Did he make more frequent trips to town?" Doggett ventured, watching Angela's body language from the corner of his eye.

The Monsignor shook his head, "No more than usual, but I don't really keep track of the coming and going of our Senior Members."

"What about Father Bryan Pavilcek," Angela continued, not liking this man one bit. "He was close to Frank?"

"As close as any of them were, I suppose," he shrugged.

"Could we speak to him?" Doggett asked.

"I'm afraid he's in an all day retreat," the Monsignor said, hoping his sincerity would mask the lie. "We can't reach him until tomorrow."

"That's fine," Doggett nodded, seeing through the thinly-veiled lie, "We can come back."

'Well..." the Monsignor demurred.

"Monsignor," Doggett began, his tone quiet, but authoritative, "We are conducting an investigation of the murders of seven young women. I understand your devotion to your religion, but please understand our devotion to solving this case."

"There are some things, Agent Doggett," the Monsignor cryptically said, "That do not have easy answers."

"Easy or hard," Doggett replied, his tone not changing, "As long as we get the answers we need, we'll be satisfied."

The Monsignor recognized the man's determination, as well as the sister's need to find out the truth. He guessed that he could only hide things from them for so long. He could only pray that they were prepared for the answers that they would find.

"I will make arrangements for you to speak to Father Bryan in the morning, after Mass," he acquiesced.

"In the mean time," Doggett continued, not letting up, "We'd like to walk around the grounds. Speak to a few of your staff." He stopped, then, as if an after thought, "We will, of course, have the highest respect for your faith and your church."

"I can ask you no more," the Monsignor replied, a tone of resignation in his voice, "Only that you tread carefully and keep your own faith alive and strong in your heart at all times." He focused his eyes on Angela, "Your brother had some concerns that you were turning from your faith. I offered the suggestion that perhaps it was the Church itself that was not serving your needs."

Angela felt his eyes boring into her, sending her a message she could not read. She felt as if she were back in grade school, sitting in Sister Immaculata's office because she talked in class, or chewed gum, or wore those infernal plaid wool skirts too many inches above her knee caps. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"I don't know what it may be," the Monsignor continued, "But I suggest you find your beliefs and keep them firm. At least on these grounds. The Lord will keep and protect you, Angela Rose, but only if you let him."

Doggett watched the scene play out and couldn't help but notice how Talarico's posture had changed when the Monsignor addressed her. Instinctively, she sat up straight, her feet flat on the floor, knees together, hands folded in her lap. She looked like a school girl who was being reprimanded.

He also noticed the visible chill that ran through her body at the Monsignor's last warning. Some small part of his brain wondered if she was an Xfiles convert, too, but he squelched that thought instantly. After last night, when she shared her views on Mulder's work, he knew that she was a very grounded individual, much like himself. Or like he tried to be.

Once the Monsignor had dismissed them, Doggett and Talarico walked across the Seminary grounds to the building that housed the Faculty Residence.

"He knows more than he's letting on," she quietly said.

Doggett nodded, "And he's telling us to watch our asses. But the question is; what should we be looking out for?"

She sighed. "I'm not so sure I wanna know."

"If you want to go back to DC..." he offered. He could sense the toll that losing her brother had already taken it's toll on her and he did NOT want to have to deal with her losing it. He had enough to deal with.

"No," she shook her head. "I'm here for the duration."

He stopped walking, causing her to stop and face him. He looked her in the eyes and in a quiet voice, said, "If this is going to be too much for you, pull out now. I will tell you everything I find out. You have my word. But if you're going to lose it..."

She stood straight and returned his gaze. Her eyes were hard and sharp. He could see determination taking over whatever fear had been there a moment ago.

"I will NOT lose it, Agent Doggett," she said, with a venomous tone. "I am a trained investigator, just as you are. And although this case is close to me, I will handle myself professionally. You have my word on it." With that she turned and walked ahead.

"Damn," Doggett muttered, watching as she stopped walking and turned to him. She didn't speak, but fixed him with one of those "are you coming?" looks that only a pissed off female can muster.

He supposed he could have handled it differently. After all, his motives weren't entirely selfless. He was sure she picked up on it. Most intelligent women pick up on the "ulterior motives".

The day was a waste of time. None of the staff had anything to tell them beyond the well rehearsed lines that Monsignor Fitapaldi had scripted for them. Doggett was beginning to wonder if they'd get anything at all from this group. Their only hope lay with Father Pavilcek. There had to be some reason why the Monsignor was reluctant to allow the young priest to speak to them. Hopefully, tomorrow, they'd find out.

After another greasy meal at the diner, Doggett walked down the small town's main street. It was only 7:38 p.m. and everything was closed. Everything but the Round Up Saloon which stood at the opposite end of the street from the town hall. From the number of pick up trucks parked in the lot, Doggett figured it must be the town's "hot spot". He knew that people talked when they drank. With a story as sordid as this one, he was sure he could scour up some details from the bar's clientele. Besides, he rationed, if nothing else, it beat a night of sitting in that dismal hotel room.

He assumed that Agent Talarico was doing just that. After their day at the Seminary, they'd returned to the hotel. He invited her to join him at the diner and she politely refused and walked to her room. Doggett wondered how she could stand to be in that room. He'd admitted to himself early on that he'd probably have done exactly what she was doing now, if it were his brother who'd been involved. But, he wouldn't have holed himself up in a hotel room. Well, if that's what she needed to do, he thought, shrugging to himself, as he reached the door of the bar.

He pushed open the door and walked in. As he looked around at the jeans and flannel crowd, he was glad he'd thought to change from his usual dark suit before coming here. There was loud country music coming from a juke box and the clack of a game of pool coming from across the room. He walked to the bar and took a seat.

A moment later, the bartender approached him. Doggett sized the man up. He was probably about 6'5" and had to weigh 300 pounds. His face was friendly enough, but something told Doggett that he did NOT want to get into a brawl with this guy.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked.

"Bud," Doggett returned, laying a twenty dollar bill on the bar.

The bartender set an open bottle of Budweiser down front of Doggett and took the twenty. He walked to the cash register, rang up the sale and returned with the change.

"Thanks," Doggett said, taking a sip of the beer. He looked down at his change. $19. Cheap beer was the best kind. He'd have to stay a bit.

"You're the Fed, aren't you?" the bartender asked.

_Now how the hell did he know that_? Doggett wondered. "Yeah, I am."

"Sick, ain't it?" the bartender shook his head. "A priest offin' those girls."

Doggett nodded, grateful that no one else in the bar was paying the slightest bit of attention to him. "You hear anything about it? Any details?"

The bartender laughed, "I thought that's what they paid you to find out..."

Doggett laughed with him, noticing that someone had been sitting on the stool next to him. There was a half empty bottle of Coors Light and about $15 sitting there. He wondered who it could be.

"Well," the bartender began, leaning across the bar and dropping his volume, "The rumor is...the guy was possessed."

"Possessed?" Doggett asked, a brow raised. "As in...by the Devil?"

The bartender nodded, "Or somethin' like that," he shrugged. "I don't know...the priests say he was crazy and didn't take his drugs. Whatever it was...he made a real mess of them girls."

Doggett nodded again.

"He wasn't crazy," began a female voice from Doggett's left.

Agent Talarico. He should have known she wouldn't be holed up in her hotel room.

"Sorry about that, M'am," the bartender bowed his head in respect, making Doggett wonder if the man knew who she was.

"Don't worry about it," she replied, her tone all business, "There was no history of mental illness according to what research we've done."

"Then why'd he do it?" the bartender asked, his question sincere.

Doggett watched Talarico go a shade paler before she answered.

"I don't know, Hank. That's what we're down here trying to find out." She fixed him with a smile that was both knowing and honest, and leaned across the bar. "Can you do me a favor?"

Hank smiled back at her, leaning towards her. "What do you need?"

She handed him her business card, "If you hear anything...anything at all...that you think might help us...will you call me?" Her voice dripped with honey.

Hank took the card and tucked it in his shirt pocket; "I certainly will..." he winked.

"Yo, Hank!" called a heavyset woman from the other end of the bar, "My glass has been empty for ten minutes..."

"Keep your pants on, Cora!" he bellowed, walking down the bar.

"Smooth," Doggett replied, sipping his beer.

She looked at him, her eyes flashing. "Look...Agent Doggett..."

He turned to face her and spoke quietly, "Relax, Agent Talarico...I'm not trying to bust your stones."

"It sure as hell seems like it..."

"You know...you've got one hell of a chip on your shoulder," he observed. _Shit_, Doggett thought, _first Scully, now Talarico, it MUST be me. How did I end up working with not one, but two, beautiful but belligerent women_? " 'specially after a couple of beers."

She bit back a smart reply.

"Go on," he simply said, "Say what you want to say."

She shook her head. "It isn't worth it."

He shrugged, "Look, I'm not the enemy. If I was, I'd have turned your ass in last night."

He was right. She had to admit it. He wasn't going to turn her in, unless of course, her pissy attitude drove him to do it. She owed him an apology.

"I'm sorry, Agent Doggett," she quietly said. "I guess...I'm just..."

"An emotional wreck?" he tried, his tone light.

Angela laughed, a dry hard laugh. "Yeah, that about sums it up. I know I probably shouldn't be here..."

"Ain't no "probably" about it," he added.

"Fine, I shouldn't be here, but I have to..." she stopped, "You're with the X-Files...what do you think about the Possession idea?"

He looked at her sideways, "Honestly, I don't buy it."

"Okay, but what other theory do you have?" she sipped her beer and studied him. He was kind of attractive when you got to know him. There was just something very attractive about those distinctive blue eyes. She chided herself for thinking such a thought and turned her attention back to their conversation.

"The mental illness theory was a good one..." he allowed.

She shook her head, "No. There is no history, no documented medical proof. Hell, no prescriptions were found anywhere. There were no drugs in his system..."

"I said it WAS a good theory, Agent," he corrected. "Maybe he just snapped?"

"And killed one woman a week for six weeks? That's not "just snapping". Just snapping is walking into a fast food joint and blasting 15 people with an AK47. Just snapping is beating the crap outta the paper boy cuz he threw the paper on the roof. It's instant gratification. What Frankie did was not instant gratification."

"It wasn't very organized, either," Doggett continued, "He apparently picked his victims at random. They were all strangled with their own stockings or panties, so he didn't bring a weapon with him..."

"And they were all...what you might call "loose women."."

"And just how do you know that?" he asked, curiously.

Angela allowed a smile, "I've been here for about an hour. Been talking to the guys playing pool. Actually won $20 from one of them when I ran the rack. Bought 'em a couple of beers, and they just started to talk."

He nodded appreciatively. Not exactly FBI sanctioned tactics, but she knew how to work what she had. He, himself, had turned on the charm to a few women to get the answers he needed. Talarico was a very pretty woman. Hell, she charmed him into letting her stay without even trying.

"So, what else did you hear?" he asked.

She drained the bottle of Coors Light and held the empty out to him, "Buy us another round and I'll fill you in."

It was after midnight when Doggett and Talarico left the Round Up Saloon. They talked to pretty well all of the customers and where they didn't get any concrete evidence, they got quite a few interesting takes on the murders.

Somehow, the group inside the bar had taken a liking to the two Federal Agents and offered whatever ideas or thoughts they might have had. They also bought them a couple of rounds of beer. Doggett stopped drinking after two. He was carrying and didn't want to even think of the nightmares involved. Talarico had one more round and then begged off. She'd left her weapon locked in the glove box of the Mustang.

Once they were sure they'd exhausted the collective minds of the crowd, they left the bar and walked back down the quiet street to the hotel. The night was still and dark.

"It's so quiet here," Angela began, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm used to noise...traffic..."

Doggett nodded, not wanting to spoil the quiet of the night. It was then that they heard what sounded like a wolf or a dog howling.

A chill ran through Angela's body. "What the hell was that?"

"Probably just a dog," Doggett shrugged, wondering why the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He looked over at Talarico. He had to admit that he found her very intriguing. Strong women usually had that effect on him. Dana Scully had that effect on him, as well. But, where Agent Scully was petite and fragile looking, Agent Talarico was tall and there was nothing fragile looking about her. He sensed though, that Scully was a much tougher cookie than Talarico. Sure, Talarico put on the tough act, but he could see that deep down inside she was ready to crumble. Could he see that in Agent Scully? At times, but Scully was...inscrutable. He saw a glimpse here and there, but she kept it hidden for much of the time with a perfectly honed cool exterior. Scully had a "do not touch" sign firmly planted in front of her. He could not cross the barriers she'd built. No matter how much he wanted to help her, she would not let him in.

Agent Talarico on the other hand, seemed to want him to try to help, no matter what she actually SAID to him, her expressions and body language told him other wise. That, he rationalized, was why he felt the urge to put a protective arm around her as they walked through the darkened town.

Angela shivered in the cold night. This place was starting to freak her out. Could it be that her brother really WAS possessed by something? And, to make it worse, could it be that that "something" was out there, right now, waiting to take over someone else? No, that was totally crazy.

She cast a sideways glance over at Agent Doggett and found him watching her. She was surprised to find an expression of concern on his face. She'd enjoyed his company tonight. Sure, they were working, but during the course of the night, they'd played pool, shot darts, and even had a beer or two. He had a certain good old boy charm that he played to the group and she found herself being suckered in by it. She wondered if that was how he hooked women and imagined that he could probably hook quite a few.

They reached the hotel and walked to their rooms. She didn't want to be alone. She was frightened but would never admit it. As she fished her room key out of the pocket of her jeans, she looked at him.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Talarico was spooked. Hell, Doggett had to admit he was a little spooked himself. Problem was, he didn't know what he should do at this point. If either of their rooms had two beds he'd have offered to share with her. Hell, if they weren't working, he would have shared ONE bed with her, he decided, then cautioned himself to ignore the fact that she was a beautiful woman and think of her only as a colleague.

Once he got his mind back on track, an idea hit him, "Listen...our rooms have an adjoining door. We could leave it open..."

She looked at him, surprise registered on her face.

Deciding that she must've taken it the wrong way, he quickly explained, "I don't know what happened to your brother, but it may be safer if we can hear each other. You know, just in case."

Surprise was replaced with relief and she nodded. "Sounds good. I think it's actually two doors, each room can unlock one."

He nodded, opening the door to his room. "Let's try it. If not, we'll have the manager come up."

They were able to unlock both doors without help from the manager. Angela had to admit, she felt a lot safer knowing someone was right through an open door. Of course, who the hell knew what it was they would be up against. Could she fight off a possessed man? During her years in law enforcement, she'd fought off men who were high on drugs and seemed possessed, but could she handle the real thing?

Tiredly, she got changed into her hockey jersey and boxers. Her feet were freezing so she pulled on a pair of gray sweat socks, and then got into bed. Before she even knew what was happening, she fell asleep.

Doggett awoke with a start. He sat up in bed and listened for the sound that had awakened him. It came again and his ears deciphered it to be the sounds of a woman crying. Not just a quiet cry, either, but a full on sobbing, wrenching sound. It had to be Talarico, but what had caused the sobbing? He bolted out of bed, grabbing his service weapon and walking to the door that connected their rooms.

He found her sitting up in bed, clutching the pillow to her stomach.

"Agent Talarico," he said, walking into the room, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head and tried to stop sobbing.

"Was someone here?" he asked again, placing his hands on her shoulders.

She shook her head again, "No...I...I'm sorry..." she took a deep breath and willed herself to relax.

"Are you okay?"

She watched as he pulled a tissue from the box on the night stand and handed it to her. She took it and wiped her eyes, then blew her nose with a resounding trumpet. Embarrassed, she nodded. "Sorry."

"What happened?"

"I had a dream...about my brother...I woke up crying and couldn't stop," she sighed, feeling the urge to cry again. "You must think I'm such a joke."

"No, I don't," he said, becoming aware that he was still holding her by the shoulders. He pulled his hands away. "You've had a lot happen in the past couple of days..."

She nodded, wishing he'd put his hands back on her shoulders. "I'm sorry I woke you," she quietly said.

"Will you be okay?"

She shrugged. It was irrational, but she didn't want to be alone in this room.

Doggett looked at her in the dim light from the bathroom. There was a deep pain in her eyes. He suddenly felt very protective of her. "Do you want me to stay with you for a while?"

Angela felt herself blushing. Of course she wanted him to stay. She did not want to be alone. She didn't want to be here. She suddenly started to sob again. This was wrong. She was not some hysterical, crying, soap opera character. She was a trained Federal Agent. She had control of her emotions in every situation. Except for this one, that is.

She could not stop sobbing no matter what she tried. The fact that she was so out of control in front of a fellow agent was totally mortifying. This only added to the grief and sorrow she was releasing.

Acting on instinct, Doggett sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. He could feel her collapse against him, sobbing. Was this appropriate behavior in the eyes of the FBI? He didn't really care at this point. The sounds of this woman's sobbing were painful to hear. He couldn't walk away and not try to comfort her.

When Angela's travel alarm went off at 8 am, she didn't want to open her eyes. She felt like crap and her entire body hurt. She knew she'd released a lot of the emotions she'd bottled up inside and now her body was in the letdown stage. As her mind slowly woke into reality, she realized there was someone else in bed with her. Her eyes flew open wide.

Hearing the travel alarm, Doggett woke with a start. As he opened his eyes, he realized two things. The first thing was that he was not in his own room. The second thing was that he was not alone. Far from it. Still wrapped in his arms was Agent Talarico. As her eyes opened, she sat up with a start.

"Oh, Man..." she sighed. "This is not good..."

"Agent Talarico," Doggett began.

"Shit, we've slept in the same bed, you might as well call me Angela..." she dryly said.

He laughed. "You know...if this were a different situation..."

"Don't even go there." She ran her hands through her thick dark brown hair, "God, I am mortified."

"Why?"

"Why?" she asked, incredulous. "Because I made a total ass out of myself last night."

"How? By crying?" he dismissed the thought. "Jesus, Angela, you're human."

She noticed that he'd used her first name and it took a bit of the edge off. "But, I'm a Federal Agent...I'm not supposed to do that."

"Tell me that's the first time a case has made you break down and I'll tell you you're lying," he challenged. Then, his tone softened, "Besides, this case is different. It's your brother."

"But to break down in front of you," she said, then stopped, knowing she went too far.

"So, that's it," he nodded. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna hold it against ya," he winked at her, trying to lighten the situation. "And I won't even tell anybody that we slept together."

"Oh...man..." she sighed again. "If anybody heard about this..."

"You aren't even supposed to be here, remember?" he reminded her, as he walked to the common door. "I'm going to get a shower. We've got to meet Father Bryan soon." With that, he went back to his room.

Angela sat on the bed. "What the hell just happened here?" she asked herself aloud. She broke down and spent the night sleeping in one hell of a pair of arms. That in and of itself was a good thing. Of course, the fact that the arms belonged to a co worker and they'd probably just violated some kind of major rule against fraternization, was not such a good thing.

Shaking her head, Angela made her way to the shower.

Father Bryan Pavilcek looked much younger than his thirty years. He had a baby face and a thick shock of sandy brown hair that fell over his eyes when he talked. He was open and concerned and once Monsignor Fitapaldi left him alone with Agents Talarico and Doggett, he spoke freely of what had been happening at the Seminary.

"So, let me get this straight," Doggett began, "You're trying to tell us that Father Frank was possessed by some kind of evil spirit?"

"Not just any spirit..." Father Bryan corrected, "Asmodeus."

Doggett nodded, "Asmodeus," he repeated, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

"Do you know who he is, Agent?" Father Bryan asked.

Doggett shook his head, "I'm not up on my Demonology."

"You know who he is, don't you, Agent Talarico?" Father Bryan said, casting his gaze to Angela.

"After 13 years of Catholic School? Of course I do," she replied.

"Can you enlighten me?" Doggett drolly asked.

"Asmodeus is the demon of lust. He's one of the Seven Deadly Sins," she explained. "He was married to Lilith, Queen of the Demons."

Doggett looked at her, curiously. "Okay...say that's true...then this guy's gotta be pretty powerful. No offense to your brother, but why go through him? Why not somebody bigger, like the Monsignor, or a Cardinal...or even the Pope?"

"Because," Father Bryan said, "Those men have stronger spiritual beliefs. Their souls are more protected. Besides, how better to do his dirty work and achieve his desires than through a common man. If the Pope were to commit the acts that Father Frank committed, they would not have gone unnoticed."

Doggett looked over at Talarico. She was buying into this whole thing. He could tell by the look on her face.

"Now that Frank is gone," she began, hopefully, "Has he gone?"

Father Bryan shook his head. "The sounds, the screams, they're back."

"When do they come?" Doggett asked

"At night. We all hear them. Some turn a deaf ear, some pray. Father Frank had to try to stop them."

"How do we stop them?" Doggett asked, not sure he'd believe any answer he was given.

"It sounds simple, but we would have to wait until he possessed someone else, then subject him to burning tar..." Father Bryan explained.

A brow went up at this statement and Doggett could not hide his skepticism, "You pour burning tar on him?"

Father Bryan shook his head, "No, just around him. The smell, the bitter smell...and the right prayers will drive him away."

"And you're sure of this?"

"Yes, Agent Doggett. I know this seems crazy to you, but trust me. I've researched this since Father Frank's death. I believe this will be the answer."

"So...now what? We wait for somebody to be possessed?"

"No waiting will be necessary," Father Bryan serenely said, "I volunteered for the job."

"Monsignor Fitapaldi knows all about this, doesn't he?" Talarico asked.

"Yes, and he's forbidden us from acting on it. He says that if we just keep our souls and hearts pure and open, Asmodeus will eventually tire of us and move on."

"And you don't believe that?"

Father Bryan again shook his head. "That's why I'm acting on it. But I will need help."

"And let me guess, we're the ones who can help you?" Doggett grimaced.

"Yes, I can't ask any one here. They believe the Monsignor. They're afraid."

"And why us?" Talarico asked.

"You don't believe. Well, not totally. You can be arbitrary enough to keep your head through all of this."

"May I have a word with you in the hall way, Agent Talarico?" Doggett asked, walking to the door.

As he walked out, Talarico turned to the priest, "We'll be right back." She walked out into the hallway and shut the door.

"You're buying this, aren't you?" he asked.

"No," she lied.

"You are. Agent, there have to be other explanations..."

"You would think there were, but there aren't. We can't come up with anything better...what do we have to lose?" she rationalized.

Doggett took a deep breath and released it. "You think we should do this, huh?"

She simply nodded. "I'm going to. If you don't want to, that's fine." With that, she pulled open the door and walked in. "Okay, Father Bryan, I'm in. When are we going to do this?"

"Tomorrow night," Father Bryan decided. "I need you to assemble a few things. Can you be here before dark?"

"We've got nowhere else to go," Doggett tiredly said, walking back into the room.

The screams had awakened Father Bryan from his fitful sleep. They were the same, horrific bone shaking screams that he'd heard since before Father Frank's death.. It was all there, the scratching on the windows, the banging on the walls. But tonight, Father Bryan felt strong. Tomorrow night, he promised. We will meet tomorrow night.

He was secure in his faith and his decision, until he heard a female voice calling him.

"Father Bryan! Help me!!!" the voice said, full of pain and terror. "Please...help me..."

He knew that voice; it belonged to Father Frank's sister, Angela. He got out of bed and walked to the window. Looking down, he saw her, standing below his window. Her clothing was torn, her face scratched and bleeding, she looked up at him, her eyes beseeching him. "Help me!!! It's after me!!"

This could be a trick, he thought. He knew demons were crafty. He looked down again to find her looking over her shoulder in fear.

"Please, Father Bryan!" she cried.

Father Bryan slipped on his jacket and grabbed his rosary and a bottle of holy water. If this WAS a trick, they might help.

He made his way through the darkened building and quietly slipped out the back door. _She should be just around the corner,_ he thought. "Angela? Agent Talarico?" he asked, careful not to raise his voice.

He could hear the sounds of a woman crying and followed them to where the bushes grew thick.

He walked around a large bush and saw her, on her knees, crying. Her shirt was nearly torn off and her breasts were spilling from a very lacy bra. She looked up at him through the hair that had fallen in front of her face. "Help me," she said, her tone was less frantic.

"What happened?" he asked, kneeling next to her.

"It attacked me," she said, her hands running over her own body, caressing her own breasts.

"Are you hurt?" he tried, noticing that her actions were changing. She was no longer the frightened and hurt victim. Now, she seemed calm, sure of herself, and seductive, very seductive.

She slowly unbuttoned the few buttons remaining on her blouse and shrugged out the ripped shirt.

"Angela..." he began, pulling off his jacket and slipping it around her shoulders. She must be in shock.

She shrugged the jacket from her shoulders then released the front closure of her bra. Pulling the lacy material aside, she brought her hands up to her breasts and began to caress them. "Touch me, Father Bryan," she said, her voice throaty.

"Angela," he said, knowing this was wrong. On some level, he realized that this could not be happening. But by that point, it was too late to stop himself.

"Come on, Father Bryan," she purred, taking his hand and placing it over her breast. "Touch me...doesn't it feel good to touch a woman?"

"This is wrong," he murmured, as she slipped out of her blue dress pants.

"No, it's not wrong...not when it feels so good..." She took his hand from her breast and placed it between her legs. "You want me, don't you?"

He couldn't reply.

"Tell me that you want me," she commanded, her hand holding his on the warm wetness of her silk panties. " Tell me..."

Father Bryan knew he should say no, but could not. He pulled her to him and kissed her.

Looking into her jade green eyes, he said, "I want you."

An evil laughter erupted from the beautiful woman in his arms. Her cool green eyes quickly turned to a burning intense red and her beautiful face was replaced by the face of an ogre. Before Father Bryan could protest, he felt a jolt of heat burning through him, then the cold. Bitter, evil cold took over his body. His head grew hazy and he knew he would pass out. As blackness overtook him, he said a prayer for his soul.

Angela slept lightly. She sensed an ending to the ordeal and it helped ease her mind. After they'd left Father Bryan, they'd accumulated the items on his list. Per his instructions, both of them had slept with a blessed candle burning in their rooms.

Doggett did so grudgingly. He did not believe any of this, but went along with it. His reason for going along with it was, "I don't believe it. But I have no alternative answers." Angela had decided that was a fair answer.

She didn't know why, but she believed it. She had since she'd first heard it. Doggett offered the rationale that it was easier to believe that her brother was possessed by something evil, than to admit that maybe, just maybe, he willingly killed those women. She'd been too tired to argue.

Angela stirred, feeling a weight on the bed next to her. She didn't remember having another cry tonight, so it couldn't be Doggett. She must've been dreaming, she dismissed, allowing her mind to imagine what the blue eyed agent would be like in bed. To her dismay, the thought had crossed her mind a few times since he'd arrived in town.

In her twilight state, she watched herself and Doggett making love. As the mind is wont to do in that strange area between sleeping and waking, the scene was very vivid, and her body was responding to each touch. She could feel him pull up her shirt and expose her body, feel his hand caress her breast, and the other slowly eased under the lace trim of her panties, to touch her. She could hear his breathing, feel it on her face.

"Angela..." he said. But it wasn't Doggett's voice. Her eyes flew open wide. It was Father Bryan.

"Father Bryan!" she gasped, as he tore the underwear from her body. "What the hell are you doing?"

She looked up into his eyes and felt the urge to scream. His eyes were red and bore into her with a heat and intensity that reached her soul.

"Tell me that you want me," he commanded, recalling the lines the demon used on him.

"Get...off...of ...me..." she protested, pushing him away.

"If you relax," he simply said, "It would be soooooo nice..."

"GET OFF!!!" she bellowed, as he pinned her hands over her head.

"Father Bryan!" Doggett's voice called from the doorway, followed by the unmistakable click of the safety being removed from a gun. "Step away from the bed."

"NO!" the priest roared, in a voice that sounded like a million voices at once.

"I'm going to ask you again to step away from her," he commanded, wondering where the voice came from. As Father Bryan turned to look at him Doggett saw his eyes. They were a deep blood red.

"Leave me be!" he roared again, looking down at Angela who was trying to squirm from his grip.

Doggett couldn't get a clear shot on him without the risk of hitting Angela. He'd noticed that Father Bryan was holding both of Angela's hands with his one. Maybe, if he distracted him, she could pull one free.

"Father Bryan," he began, sharply, "Or whoever you are...leave the woman alone."

A horrible noise arose from Father Bryan's throat. It was a cross between a cry and a howl. He turned to glare at Doggett and as he did, Angela pulled her right hand free.

Thinking quickly, she grabbed the burning candle and thrust it at his face.

He pulled back, howling at the pain. Once Angela was safely out of the way, Doggett fired one shot, through Father Bryan's back. The man collapsed on the floor, twitching, the howling coming from his throat in a loud, continuous sound.

"The tar!" Angela said.

Doggett looked at her as if she had lost her mind, but something told him to grab the bag on the table and pull out the can of tar they'd bought at the local hardware store.

Angela scrambled across the bed and grabbed the matches from the bag. Without a second thought, she lit one and tossed it in the can. It took a moment, and then began to smoke. Doggett carried it over and set it near Father Bryan's head.

As he did, Angela began to recite the 23rd Psalm. "The Lord is my Shepherd..."

As the howling grew louder, Angela prayed louder, she looked at Doggett, who joined her, hoping he could remember the words of the prayer he'd learned as a child. As they prayed, Father Bryan's body began to flail on the ground. They repeated the prayer, voices growing louder, as the howling grew in intensity and the body twitched and jerked violently. Then, there was a bright flash of light and a radiating heat that nearly knocked them off their feet. It lasted but a moment, then plunged the room back into darkness.

The silence was nearly as deafening as the howling had been. Doggett reached out and flipped the wall switch, turning on the lights. Father Bryan lay face up on the floor.

"Is he..." Angela asked, as Doggett knelt over the body, gun still drawn.

Doggett felt for a pulse and didn't find one. He looked down to find that the man's eyes had been burned out, as had his ears. Both places were still smoldering. Doggett stood.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked, as he picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

It was over. The body had been taken back to the Seminary, after receiving last rights on scene from Monsignor Fitapaldi. Doggett and Talarico gave their statements to Sheriff Jeter, who shook his head in disbelief. Monsignor Fitapaldi prayed for their souls and thanked them.

When it was over, Doggett returned to his room to collect his things. Sheriff Jeter had kindly offered the use of his guest room and a shower and Doggett was going to take him up that offer before returning to DC. Angela, however, had the Sheriff collect her belongings from her hotel room.

As she dropped her duffel bag into her trunk, Doggett walked over. "You're not going to drive home, are you?" he asked.

"I just want to get the hell outta here," she replied, tersely.

"Why don't you let me take you over to Jeter's house? He offered us ..." Doggett tried.

She shook her head, "No...I've got to put as many miles as I can between me and this place or I am going to lose it big time..."

"I'm afraid you're gonna do that anyway," he admitted.

"I probably will...but I can't stay here." Her eyes met his and willed him to understand.

"I can't force you to stay."

"No, and it wouldn't work if you tried. I'm sorry, Agent Doggett..."

"John," he quietly said.

"John," she replied, then, "I..."

He took one of his business cards out of his wallet. "Do you have a pen?"

"A what?" she looked at him curiously.

"A pen...in the car?"

"Oh, yeah..." she walked around and opened the driver's door. She reached in to the center console and produced a pen. "Here."

He took it from her and wrote something on the back of his business card and handed her both the card and the pen. "If you need...to talk..." he awkwardly said.

"Thank you..." was her numb reply. "I've got to leave."

"Go on...be careful," he said, as she got into the car and started the engine. After a moment, she backed out of the parking space and drove off, burning rubber as she did. He watched her go, hoping she'd make it home in one piece. He knew he was confused by this whole thing, he couldn't imagine what she was going through.

At some point during the night, a storm had settled in over most of the eastern part of the state of Virginia, with the Falls Church area receiving the brunt of it. Doggett woke to a sharp clap of thunder followed by a vivid flash of lighting. Sitting up with a start, he looked around the room. He was home. That was a relief.

He'd showered at Jeter's house and wolfed down a wonderful lunch that the Sheriff's wife had made for him, but found that he could not fall asleep. So, he drove home. Once in his own home, he found it easy to lie down and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He had no idea what happened in that hotel room. He knew what he saw, knew what it seemed like, but there was no way that it could have been what really happened. He laughed out loud at the thought that he and Agent Talarico could have driven a demon away. Wait til Agent Scully heard this one.

No, Agent Scully would probably believe every word of it. If Agent Mulder was around...well, he didn't even want to think about that. No, he'd have a hard enough time trying to write up the case file on this one without putting the Spooky Mulder flare to it. Tomorrow, or should he say today, was Sunday, and he officially had the day off. Writing up the report on this one could wait til Monday.

He closed his eyes and tried to return to sleep, but his mind kept returning to Agent Talarico. Angela. He wondered how she was making out, if she made it home, if she was okay. She assured him that Father Bryan didn't hurt her except for a little bruising on her wrists, but it wasn't her physical state that concerned him.

He wasn't sure why he'd given her his card with his home address and phone number on it. If she DID call him, he had no idea what he would say. But, on some level, he felt responsible for her, at least where this whole thing was concerned. Something about the dark haired agent stuck with him.

The sound of the doorbell roused him from his thoughts. Doggett turned on the bedside light, got out of bed and made his way downstairs, his service weapon gripped firmly in his right hand. The doorbell rang again, as he made his way to the front door. He opened the door to find Angela Talarico standing on the door step. She was soaking wet.

"Agent...John..."she began. "I'm sorry, I..."

He opened the storm door and ushered her in, shutting the door behind her and locking it. He turned to find her standing there, dripping water onto the hardwood floor.

"You're soaked," he announced, tucking the gun into his waistband. "What did you do? Walk here?"

"No, I've been standing out on the front step for twenty minutes trying to talk myself into ringing the bell," she admitted. She looked at him. He was wearing an old, green Marine Corps t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. His hair was standing up at odd angles. "I woke you...I'm sorry..."

"You didn't wake me, the storm did. Come on...let's get you something dry to wear."

"No," she protested. "I shouldn't have come here like this..."

He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, "I'm the one who gave you my address."

She looked into his eyes and a small smile formed on her lips. "Thank you."

"Come on...I hope you don't mind a pair of sweats...I don't have anything feminine around here," he explained, leading her upstairs.

"I don't want to put you out..."

"Stop," he said, not even looking at her. He walked into his bedroom and produced a clean pair of sweats and a t-shirt from a drawer. "I can toss that stuff in the dryer for you..." he said, then felt awkward. "The bathroom's right here." He reached into the bathroom and flipped on the light.

Without a word, she walked in, pulling the door shut behind her. Doggett ran his hands through his hair and wondered what to do now.

Angela stripped off her wet clothes and stood naked in the bathroom. She had no idea why she drove out here in a storm. All she knew was that she needed to see Doggett...John. What they'd been through was so totally fucked up. She needed him to help her sort it out. She needed him to confirm that the whole thing wasn't some sick dream or figment of her imagination.

Feeling a chill run through her, she pulled on the gray sweatpants and the pulled on the t-shirt. It too was gray and in navy blue print across the front were the words "FBI Academy". She noticed a comb on the shelf over the sink and dragged it through her dark hair. Looking at her self in the mirror, she sighed.

"You look like shit," she quietly said, then opened the bathroom door.

"Feel better?" he asked.

She nodded. "Thank you."

"I was worried about you," he admitted. Hell, it was two am and they were both exhausted, he didn't have the strength to do the whole denial of emotions thing right now.

She gave a small smile, "I was kinda psycho when I left, wasn't I?"

"I wouldn't say psycho," he softly laughed, "Freaked out, maybe."

"Is that why you gave me your address and phone number?" she asked, bluntly. She was too tired to play games and sensed he felt the same way.

"I figured you'd need to talk about it..." he shrugged, "Cuz if you're half as fucked up over this as I am, you'd need somebody to talk to."

She sighed; "I don't wanna talk about it yet...I ..." she looked up at him. "I just don't want to be alone tonight."

He looked into her eyes, "You're not alone," he quietly said.

"We can talk tomorrow, okay?" she asked, then, "Would it be too much to ask..."

"What?" he prompted, realizing that she could probably ask him anything right now and he'd do it for her.

"Could you just hold me?" she seemed embarrassed by her request and looked away.

He reached out and tilted her face towards him. "Come lay down with me..." He took her hand and led her to the bed.

They stood for a moment, face to face, just looking at each other, neither knowing what to say.

"John," she began, then stopped, her eyes boring into his.

He bent and kissed her, surprising them both. After a moment, she responded, wrapping her arms around him and returning the kiss. He sank his hands into her dark hair and kissed her deeply, feeling his body responding to her touch.

Angela eagerly responded to his kisses. As his hands traveled along her body, she could feel herself tingling with excitement. This was not why she came here. At least she didn't think it was. After last night, she wasn't looking for sex for a while. The thought of someone touching her had not been a good thing, not since the whole scene back at the hotel. Yet, here she was. And she wasn't afraid. She felt safe with him. He'd been there through all of it. He was her witness, her protector. Maybe that was why she was here, to complete the connection and strengthen the bond that had been forged last night.

As he laid her back onto the bed, she decided that it really didn't matter why she was here, she just was. Doggett looked down at her. He wasn't sure what possessed him to kiss her; he only knew it felt right. She'd responded to each kiss, every touch, and encouraged him to go further. Now, looking down into her eyes, he saw desire. Part of him was afraid he would upset her; after all, Father Bryan's intent was to rape her. That alone would be enough to freak her out. But yet, here she was. As his hand strayed under the waistband of the sweatpants she wore and down between her legs, he discovered just how turned on she was.

When he first touched her, she gasped, not out of shock or fear, but out of the intense feelings he was arousing in her. He pulled back, afraid he'd crossed the line, looking at her. She smiled at his concerned face.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, kissing him. "Don't stop..." She slid the sweatpants down from her hips and eased them down to her knees.

Sitting back, he pulled them down the length of her legs and helped her out of them, tossing them onto a pile on the floor. He watched as she lifted the t-shirt up and over her head, depositing it on top of the sweatpants. She reached out and tugged at the hem of his shirt, which he allowed her to help him remove.

Once his shirt was off, she ran her hands across his muscular chest, smiling. She leaned forward and kissed him in the center of his chest, then looked up at him.

"Make love to me, John," she asked, simply.

"Are you sure?" he had to be sure. He had to know that it wasn't just him wanting this.

She pulled him to her, kissing him deeply while her hand reached to the waist of his sweatpants. "I'm sure..." she breathed, as she helped him ease his sweats down and watched as he stepped out of them. He stood there for a moment, naked, until she reached out and took his hand. "I think you want this too..." she said.

He lay next to her and took her into his arms, kissing her tenderly at first, then more passionately. They lay there for a moment, then he carefully rolled off of her and lay next to her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly on her forehead.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice muffled by her hair.

"I'm just fine..." she replied, "How 'bout you?"

"Fine works," he laughed, looking down at her. "You're beautiful."

She rolled her eyes, "Don't spoil it by trying a line..."

"I mean it..." he protested, as she laid her head on his chest.

She looked up at him. "Thank you," she quietly said, knowing that he would understand what she meant.

"You're welcome," he replied, as she lay back down. There were so many things they needed to discuss. So many things they needed to sort out over the whole event. But right now, none of it mattered. They were both too tired to worry about any of it. Within moments, they were both sound asleep.


End file.
